


it's a shame i'm susceptible to falling

by zanthetran



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Human!Doctor, Neighbors AU, Penetration, Porn With Plot, Riding, Smut, bi!yaz, blowjob, nonbinary!doctor, praise kink yaz for a bit sorry that one slipped in there, trans!doctor, uhhhh ok sex tags, various companion mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25156789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanthetran/pseuds/zanthetran
Summary: “She offered to dry your clothes? Yaz, that’s code for, like, I’m gonna stick my —““It wasn’t like that, Bill, she doesn’t seem the type to take advantage.”Bill’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas. “Did she?”“Bill, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did she what?” Yaz asks, already tired of this conversation.“Stick it in you?”Yaz can feel the heat on her cheeks. She turns from Bill and starts stirring the pasta again.“Oh my god,” Bill says. “Is she big?”or“oops i’m soaking wet and my front door wont open and you invite me in to dry my clothes” turns into “oh shit now your d*** is in my mouth”not the fic you asked for, nor wanted, but the fic you get!
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 118





	it's a shame i'm susceptible to falling

**Author's Note:**

> its Respect Trans People time come get yalls juice. If you’re gonna comment under this with some transphobic shit or “I respect trans people but I don’t wanna read about trans sex” get out like please DO NOT read this if you think any of that.
> 
> This is 100% a thirst project where I couldn’t get the image out of my head so *shrug emoji*.
> 
> written to: the season 11/12 doctor who soundtrack because rip

Yaz starts the fight, she knows that. She starts it for a good reason and she doesn’t regret bringing it up, because it’s true and she had told Gaby last chance the last time, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt when a picture on the table near the door falls off on her way past, the glass inside shattering. She doesn’t bother closing the door behind her and Yaz watches her walk down the stairs with her bag on her shoulder and not another look back. She runs a tired hand through her hair and kneels down to the broken frame.

“Need any help?” Yaz’s head shoots up to find the blonde from next door standing in her doorway, backpack on her shoulder and keys in her hand like she’s just arrived home.

“Nope, got it, thanks,” Yaz says coldly, kneeling down to pick up the frame and lay it face up. She and Gaby stare back at her, arms around each other and bright smiles on their faces with a white sandy beach as their backdrop. Peru, again (for Gaby at least). She wants to cry (she won’t) and lay in her bed, or shit talk her with her sister, and instead she’s alone in a flat hours away from her family with absolutely no one.

“Are you sure? I got a broom if you —“

“I said I got it, thanks,” Yaz snaps, glaring up at the blonde.

She looks surprised at the tone and Yaz feels a little bad for snapping at her but it’s already done and she’s walking off with a muttered “Sorry,” before Yaz can apologize.

Yaz picks up the glass and throws away the pictures and spends the rest of the night eating pizza and watching the goriest scary movie she can rent. Bill doesn’t hit on her in the morning and Yaz thinks (knows) it’s probably because the floors are paper thin, as well.

She leaves a bottle of rum on the blonde’s doorstep the next night as an apology (or, well, she hopes the blonde knows it’s an apology).

* * *

She forgot her umbrella. She forgot her umbrella this morning and now it’s raining (because it’s _London_ ) and she’s soaking wet and the humidity outside made her door jam swell and now she can’t get into her flat, either, which is great. She just stands there, dripping on her doormat in the hallway and not really knowing what else to do. She can wait for the rain to stop, but that could be a few hours, or she could call…who? Ryan is a half hour away and her parents live back in Sheffield. She’s resigning herself to her fate of waiting in soaking wet clothes on the stairs until the humidity dies down when the door next to her own opens and the blonde steps out, stopping in her tracks when she sees Yaz.

She studies the scene for a moment before asking, “Are you locked out?”

Yaz looks back to her door. “No, not really, I mean kind of. Door won’t open, I think it’s the humidity in the hallway.” She nods towards the broken window at the end of the hall that says open permanently.

The blonde nods. “Do you want to come in? I have towels,” she says.

Yaz looks back to the door, then to the blonde, weighing her options. Finally she says, “Yeah, please. Thanks.”

“Where you from?” she asks as she leads Yaz into the small apartment, pulling out a towel from under the bathroom sink.

“Sheffield. Moved a few weeks ago.” Yaz takes the towel from her with a mumbled thanks.

“Why the move?” The blonde asks, standing in front of her as she dries her soaking wet hair. “Do you want different clothes? I can put yours in the dryer.”

“I should probably just try my own —“

“It won’t open until the rain stops. My door does it all the time,” she says, walking into the small bedroom on the left. Yaz follows tentatively (because she still doesn’t actually know this person, she reminds herself). The blonde stands bent over her dresser drawers before pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt with a flourish, handing them to Yaz. “You can change in there.” She points to the bathroom.

Yaz goes in because she’s cold and her clothes are soaked down to her underwear and she hates chafing. She puts on the blonde’s sweatpants, the soft fabric running over her legs and her fingers trace the stitched lettering down the side pocket that says ‘Doctor’. The shirt is old and soft from being washed too much and smells like detergent. The sleeves are tight on her biceps but she doesn’t mind too much. She doesn’t bother with her bra, the pads far too wet to even think about wearing comfortably. When she exits the bathroom the blonde takes the clothes from her and puts them in the small dryer in the closet off the kitchen.

They stand there awkwardly in the middle of the room while Yaz’s clothes spin and Yaz says, “thank you,” at the same time the blonde asks “what’s your name?”

“Yasmin, my friends call me Yaz.”

The blonde sticks out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Yaz. I’m the Doctor.”

Yaz laughs. “The Doctor? What, you in like some kind of gang or something?”

“Definitely not a gang,” she says and shrugs. “Just what I’m called. Do you want a cuppa?” She moves from the dryer to the small kitchen and starts filling the kettle.

“Sure, thanks,” Yaz says. She stuffs her hands in her pockets when she walks over to the shelf next to the couch. It’s covered in knick knacks — a small Eiffel Tower statue, a snow globe from Jamaica, a shot glass from Las Vegas, and it’s not until Yaz is really looking at all the items on the shelves that she realizes the pictures in small frames never capture the subjects face. There’s one of a red head staring with her back to the camera, hand outstretched behind her like she’s reaching for an invisible partner. There’s one of a brunette mid head shake, short brown hair flying to the side to cover her face. There’s a blonde and another brunette and a few men, all with their faces obscured in some way.

“My work. I mostly do portraits, and that’s part of a series I’ve called _the travelers_ ,” the Doctor says, suddenly beside her with a cup of tea held out for Yaz.

“Why?” Yaz asks, turning to study her profile and taking the tea from her hands. She holds it up to her nose and inhales, the steam filling her nostrils until her body warms from the inside out.

The Doctor says easily, “All people I’ve met who didn’t belong. Were traveling.”

“Everyone belongs somewhere,” Yaz says.

The Doctor turns to her. “Not everyone, Yasmin Khan,” she says, taking a sip of her tea. “And it’s not always belonging to a _where_ , either.”

“Where do you belong then? Or who, I guess could be the question,” Yaz asks, and when had they turned to face one another? She doesn’t remember getting this close, but suddenly she can’t see anything but the Doctor’s searching eyes and blonde hair. She licks her lips and the Doctor’s eyes flick down to her mouth for a brief second before going back up. And then she steps back, clearing her throat.

“Your clothes should be done in bout a half hour,” she says, moving backwards to sit on the couch. She puts her mug on the coffee table and pulls a leg underneath her, then looks up at Yaz and pats the spot next to her. “I got Netflix, and Disney+,” she says with a grin.

Yaz really doesn’t know when watching How It’s Made turns into the Doctor’s hand on her knee, rubbing soft circles with her thumb, but Yaz thinks she might actually explode, honestly. She wants to kiss the Doctor, that’s a fairly new revelation she’s come to realize and she’s wholeheartedly accepting it, because this woman is really hot and really nice and Yaz is smitten already. And then Yaz tells her a joke her nephew told her last week (“what did the blanket say when it fell off the bed? Ah, sheet.”) and the Doctor laughs loud, hand gripping her thigh with strong fingers and suddenly all she can think about is those fingers doing things to her.

So she leans forward.

She catches her by surprise, that much is obvious, but soon enough the Doctor is eagerly participating, one hand reaching up to cup Yaz’s cheek. Yaz runs her tongue across a chapped bottom lip and the Doctor’s lips part with a gasp, giving her enough room to dart her tongue forward. The Doctor grips her hard by the back of the neck. Yaz’s hands stay on her hips but soon start to wander, fingers skirting the bottom of her t-shirt to stroke at soft skin.

Yaz pushes her back against the arm rest of the couch, lips trailing feather light over her jaw and pulse point. She licks up the column of her neck and sucks softly on her jaw, tongue darting out to soothe the skin. The Doctor arches into her touch and gasps loud when Yaz lays her palm flat against her toned stomach, fingertips brushing the bottoms of her breasts.

Hands tangle in her hair and hold her close while she feels a thrumming pulse underneath her lips. She moves her hands a bit closer to the Doctor’s breasts (which, she’s not wearing a bra, and that is making Yaz dizzy) when the Doctor suddenly tenses up, a once languid and expressive body now statue still.

The blonde pulls back, hand on Yaz’s chest. “Stop,” she says, voice wavering slightly.

Yaz immediately pulls her hands away and leans back to the other side of the couch. “Sorry, too much, I’m sorry —“ she starts to apologize, kicking herself for taking it so far.

“I’m trans, Yaz — transgender. Nonbinary, specifically, but —” the Doctor starts.

“Yeah, I know?” Yaz interrupts. She points to the messy desk in the corner where a small pink, blue, and white flag sits in the pencil holder. She tugs at the shirt she’s wearing that says _Property of Alpha Kappa Psi_ on the front. “Also, this shirt is for a frat — which, you were in an American fraternity? _Really_?”

“It was a while ago, got kicked out, moved back home.”

“To London?”

“Huddersfield. Left after a month and I’ve been here ever since.”

Yaz runs a hand through her still damp hair. “Listen, we don’t have to do anything if —“

“We can, if _you_ want,” the Doctor cuts in, fingers tapping anxiously on her thigh.

“Do you have protection?” Yaz asks, eyes flicking down to the front of her sweats with a suggestive raise of her brows.

“Oh! Yeah, uh, right,” the Doctor says, standing up and darting to the desk where she rummages around in the bottom drawer for a minute before pulling out…a package of biscuits. She also has a condom in her hand but she pulls one biscuit out and takes a bite before holding up the condom. “Got it,” she says between bites of biscuit.

Yaz stands and walks over to her, taking the condom from her hand. “Are you seriously eating right now?”

“I love biscuits,” the Doctor says defensively, wiping the biscuit crumbs on her pants. “Right, uh, back to business.” She looks nervously at Yaz’s hand holding the condom.

“Doctor?”

“Yeah?”

“Just kiss me, please.”

The Doctor does as asked — moving forward and cupping Yaz’s cheeks in her hands and connecting their lips. It turns hot fast and Yaz pulls at the Doctor’s shirt, condom forgotten on the desk for the moment. They part to pull her shirt over her head and the Doctor pulls Yaz’s off before she can lean forward again. Yaz pushes the Doctor against the wall and runs her hand up a toned stomach, finally reaching higher and flicking hard nipples with her thumbs. The Doctor sighs into her mouth as Yaz kneads soft flesh in both hands, reveling in the soft sounds leaving the Doctor’s throat. She kisses down her neck and blunt nails dig into her shoulders when she licks up the column of her throat, lightly biting down on her shoulder.

One hand scratches down her stomach and she dips a finger under the waistband of her sweats. She pulls the waistband back, letting it go with a snap and reveling in the resulting hiss. Their tongues roll over one another as they practically ravish each other, hands pulling bodies closer. Yaz reaches around and grips the Doctor’s ass firm in one hand and the Doctor’s hips buck forward, hard. Yaz smirks against her mouth but the smirk doesn’t last for long when the Doctor uses both hands to palm her breasts and squeeze.

Yaz’s mouth opens in a small gasp when the Doctor pinches her nipples with sure fingers. Yaz lifts her head from her neck and the Doctor takes that as her sign to push Yaz away slightly, her head dipping down to pull one dark nipple into her mouth. Yaz’s hand moves from her ass to tangle in her hair and she lets out a soft moan when the Doctor pulls at the silver barbell in her mouth. Hazel eyes look up when she switches breasts, giving it just as much attention as the first. Her tongue flicks over the stiff peak and it’s enough that Yaz is pulling her head back up, bringing their lips together again.

The edge of the bed hits the back of Yaz’s knees — _and when had they even moved to the bedroom?_ Yaz lets the Doctor push her back, landing on the bed with a soft huff as the Doctor descends on her, mouth leaving wet spots over her chest and neck and stomach, then lower, over her hips. Yaz’s hips lift and the sweatpants she wears feel like she’s wearing a full snow suit, and she’s _way_ too hot.

“Take them off, please,” Yaz says, reaching down to untie the string. The Doctor does so without preamble, pulling them down tan legs and dropping them to the floor. She kisses up one of Yaz’s legs, and when she starts for the other Yaz grunts, “Listen, I get you’re tryna show me a good time, and I appreciate it, mate, I really do, but can we get on with it?”

The Doctor pulls back, cheeks flushing pink. “Oh, right.” The Doctor sits up and picks up the condom, hands dropping to the tie on her sweats. Yaz watches with rapt attention as she lets them pool at her feet, tight boxers left behind.

“Are those space ships?” she asks, eyeing the design on the navy blue boxers.

“Uh, yeah. Weren’t expecting…this, y’know?” The Doctor motions between them. Her fingers move to the waistband of her boxers, above the noticeable hard bulge, and Yaz licks her lips.

“Have you got lube?” she asks.

“Yeah, drawer of the nightstand. Little blue bottle,” the Doctor says.

While the Doctor darts back to the desk to grab the condom, Yaz crawls up the bed and leans over, rummaging around in the drawer of the nightstand. She finds a lot of hair ties and bobby pins and a pair of silk wrist ties ( _interesting_ ) before she finds the small blue bottle laying on it’s side in the back. She grabs it with one hand and when she turns back to the Doctor her mouth literally drops open.

Blonde hair curtains her face as she looks down at the considerable length held in one hand, the other lining up the tip of the condom to roll it down. Her fingers move quick and expertly as she unrolls the latex down the shaft until it’s covering the entire thing. She gives it one hard tug with her hand before looking back up at Yaz, cheeks tinting again at the obvious ogling Yaz is currently doing.

(And she is _not_ a natural blonde, apparently.)

Yaz’s eyes drag slowly up her stomach and breasts and finally lock with hazel. She licks her lips. Her clit throbs. She hands the bottle of lube over and gets herself comfortable on the bed, head lifting to watch the Doctor squeeze a bit into her hand and rub it on the already slick shaft. She climbs up the bed and hovers over Yaz and Yaz thinks she might scream if she doesn’t touch her immediately.

“Please, Doctor,” she whispers. The Doctor’s lubed fingers swipe through her folds, spreading her own wetness over her clit. Yaz groans low in her throat as the Doctor’s thumb rubs harshly at her clit, her walls clenching around nothing.

And then the Doctor is pulling back, hand going from Yaz’s clit to her own cock and crawling forward until the tip presses against Yaz’s entrance. Yaz feels the heat radiating off the Doctor’s skin and pressing into her and the delicious stretch as the first inch goes in causes her jaw to drop open. She’s a bit bigger than she looks, apparently, and Yaz finds herself breathless as the Doctor bottoms out inside of her, thighs pressed against the backs of Yaz’s own. They’re still for a moment, the only noise in the room is their heavy breathing.

“Are you okay?” the Doctor finally asks, voice quiet. “We can stop if you need to.”

“No! No, just — just give me a second,” Yaz says, trying to slow her breathing. “Been a while, y’know?” She tries to sound relaxed. She runs her hands over the Doctor’s collar bones and neck and sifts her fingers through short blonde hair. She pulls her down to connect their lips and the Doctor seems completely okay with just making out, even if the furthest they get is her cock inside of Yaz once.

Yaz has other plans, though, and pants, “Okay, go ahead,” into her mouth. The Doctor pulls her hips back slowly, then thrusts back in at the same pace. The second time the stretch is familiar and almost welcomed, and by the fifth or sixth thrust it’s welcomed fully and Yaz lifts her legs higher to give the Doctor a better angle. She hooks her ankles around her waist and tangles one hand in blonde hair permanently as she’s moved up with every thrust. The Doctor’s strong hands grip her hips and pull her back towards her cock when she thrusts inside and Yaz moans loud, head falling back against the pillows as she lets the Doctor fuck her.

Her clit rubs against the base of the Doctor’s cock when she ruts in and Yaz gasps. “Can I touch myself?” she asks.

The look the Doctor gives her is almost feral. “Please do,” she growls, biting down softly on Yaz’s shoulder and causing her to groan low in her throat.

Her free hand moves between their bodies and she moans at the first swipe of her clit. She sets a pace with the Doctor’s hard thrusting and the tight coil in her stomach tightens ever more and suddenly she’s brought right to the edge, almost unable to say the words. “Doctor, _fuck,_ I’m gonna come, like now,” she grunts out between gritted teeth.

“Good, cause so am I,” the Doctor mumbles against her lips and shoves her tongue into her mouth as she ruts her hips relentlessly, the sound of skin smacking together filling the otherwise quiet room.

Yaz yells a lot of curse words — most of them followed by the Doctor’s name — when she comes. The Doctor doesn’t let up on the pace of her hips as Yaz practically sees stars, her mouth falling open and body spasming under the blonde. Her orgasm isn’t far behind and she grunts low in Yaz’s ear when she comes, cock still buried deep inside her. Her thrusts become erratic and she eventually slows to a stop, pulling out entirely. Yaz cups her cheek and kisses her softly, their chests heaving against each other.

The Doctor pulls away after a long moment and sits back on her heels, her cock still semi-hard between her legs. She pulls the condom off and ties it, leaning over and dropping it into the small garbage bin next to the bed. She flops down on the bed next to Yaz and laces her fingers together over her stomach, staring up at the ceiling. Glow in the dark stars stick there with tack, though it’s not nearly dark enough for them to glow yet.

The Doctor points to the far left corner and says, “That’s the big dipper.”

“They’re accurate?” Yaz asks, eyes studying the clusters of plastic stars.

“More or less. Took three days to get it all right.”

“Why hang them like that in the first place?”

The Doctor shrugs and looks over at her. “Why not?”

Yaz rolls to her side and kisses the soft pale skin of her shoulder. One hand slides over her stomach, rubbing small circles with her thumb as it travels to her hip. The Doctor’s eyes dart down to the fingers tracing her hip bones and then back up to Yaz. She looks like she’s going to say something but decides against it, mouth clicking shut when Yaz firmly grabs the cock between her legs.

She lets out a soft grunt and Yaz smirks against her shoulder, hand pulling slowly at the shaft. Her thumb rubs over the tip twice before she slides her hand back down to the base. The Doctor bites her bottom lip as Yaz starts fully wanking her off. She lets out small whimpers when Yaz rubs her thumb over the tip again and a low groan when Yaz squeezes at the base for a brief second. Yaz moves up to connect their lips, then trails her mouth down her body until the semi-erect cock sits warm next to her cheek.

The Doctor has her hand tangled in (now dry and very curly) brown hair and she looks down at her, lip between her teeth again, eyes clouded over with lust. She nods at Yaz’s raised eyebrow in question and Yaz licks her lips, then uses the flat of her tongue to lick up from the base of the shaft. The grip in her hair tightens and the Doctor moans low in her throat, head tilted back against the pillows. Yaz flicks her tongue over the head of her cock and sucks in the first inch, then another, then another, and more until her nose presses against the Doctor’s pelvis and she’s almost gagging.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” the Doctor groans, hand moving to hold the back of her head. Her hips twitch up, nudging the tip of the cock against the back of Yaz’s throat and the Doctor groans again. “Fuck, Yaz,” she pants when Yaz finally moves her head back and lets the hard shaft fall from her mouth, a line of spit trailing back to her own lips.

She grips the base in one hand and takes it back into her mouth, bobbing her head slightly now. The Doctor’s hips move almost imperceptibly with her own movements. Yaz holds onto a slender hip with her free hand and rubs circles over it with her thumb while she lets the Doctor nudge the back of her throat again. She likes it, the way the Doctor’s eyes cloud over when she does that, and the soft grunts she gives when Yaz sucks hard enough her cheeks hollow, and the hand gripping the back of her head but not forcing her down, giving her the room to move on her own accord.

It’s not long before the Doctor’s eyes fly open and she looks desperately down at her. “Yaz, I’m gonna — if you don’t want me to you need to stop,” she sputters.

Yaz pulls her mouth back for barely a second, just enough to get the words out. “I want you to,” she confirms before putting the Doctor’s cock back into her mouth.

That’s all it takes for the Doctor to be pushed over the edge. The hand in Yaz’s hair tightens almost painfully and Yaz lowers her head until every inch is in her mouth. The Doctor’s hips twitch up and nudge the back of her throat and then thick hot liquid shoots into her mouth. She bobs her head slowly as she waits for the Doctor’s hand to let go and grunting to stop. When it does, she pulls back, spit and come trailing from her lips to the shaft that falls to the side with a wet _slap_. Yaz looks up at her and locks eyes, opens her mouth with the come on her tongue, then swallows visibly. The Doctor’s cock twitches next to her cheek and she smirks.

She presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh and climbs back up the bed, flopping down next to the Doctor. She listens to the quiet for a moment before saying, “Rain’s stopped. Think my door will open yet?”

The Doctor turns her head to face her. “Maybe. I’ll help you try, if you want,” she offers, leaning forward to kiss Yaz one last time before she’s rolling off the bed and looking around for her underwear. Yaz still tastes her come in her mouth and she can’t stop thinking about the surprising length she packs and she realizes the Doctor is dressed and staring at her from the edge of the bed as she just lays there thinking about her dick.

She shakes the fog from her head. “Sorry,” she mumbles, reaching for her underwear. By the time she gets the Doctor’s sweats and t-shirt pulled over, the blonde has her now dry clothes in her hands (Yaz had completely forgotten about them honestly). “Thanks,” she says when she takes the clothes from the Doctor. “I’ll wash your clothes before I return them.”

The Doctor waves a hand. “Nah, no need. Just keep ‘em. Now, I think I got a shim somewhere round here,” she trails off as she looks in her desk, rummaging around in the drawers and on the bench next to it. Half taken apart clocks and a radios scatter the top and the cork board hung on the wall in front of the desk is pinned to death with sketches and measurements and manual pages marked with unreadable pen notes. The Doctor straightens and holds up what looks like a wooden door stop.

“Got it!” she says excitedly and picks up the hammer hanging from the side of the desk. Yaz follows her out her door and to the left where her own front door sits. The Doctor sticks the shim in between the door frame and the door and taps it lightly with the hammer. She tries the handle, taps the shim again, and the door opens with ease. The Doctor stands back and holds her arm out with flourish as the door swings inward to show her small flat.

“Thank you,” Yaz says, standing awkwardly to the side, not really sure what the protocol is for when you just sucked your neighbors dick and now she’s MacGyvered your front door open. The Doctor looks just as awkward about the social protocol and Yaz decides for the both of them, pulling her into a hug. “Thanks, seriously. Let me know if you want to do it again, yeah?” she says into her hair (because why not? What’s the worst that can happen if they just keep it to good sex?).

The Doctor is blushing when she pulls away. “Got it, yeah. Have a good night!” she says cheerfully as Yaz steps past her into her flat.

“Thanks, you too, mate,” Yaz says before shutting the door on the grinning blonde. She almost looks through the peephole to see if she’s still out there, blushing face and huge dick and weirdly bubbly personality — _jesus, she’s not gonna get over this one soon._

* * *

She tells Bill two days later when she goes over for a movie night (or an excuse to get really, really drunk).

Bill chokes on her beer and when she finally takes a big gulp of air in she asks, “You mean hot blonde upstairs?”

Yaz nods, stirring the noodles and pointedly _not_ looking at her friend. “Yeah, she lives next to me. My door was stuck and I had forgotten an umbrella, she offered to dry my clothes —“

“She offered to _dry your clothes_? Yaz, that’s code for, like, I’m gonna stick my —“

“It wasn’t _like that,_ Bill, she doesn’t seem the type to take advantage.”

Bill’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas. “ _Did she?_ ”

“Bill, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did she what?” Yaz asks, already tired of this conversation.

“Stick her cock in you?”

Yaz can _feel_ the heat on her cheeks. She turns from Bill and starts stirring the pasta again.

“Oh _my god_ ,” Bill says. “Is she big?”

Yaz almost throws the spoon at her. “Bill, I’m not answering questions about our neighbors dick, especially not when you’re the one asking.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then. Otherwise, why would you be so hung up about it? If she was small it wouldn’t be hard to get rid of her —“

“I really hate you, a lot, you know that?”

Bill wraps her arms around Yaz’s middle and puts her chin on her shoulder. “I know,” she grins, giving her an exaggerated kiss on the cheek. Yaz pushes her away, threatening her with the pasta spoon.

* * *

Is it weird to masturbate to memories of your neighbor fucking you into her mattress? Is it weird to do that when you can literally hear said neighbor masturbating as well, right on the other side of a basically paper thin wall (either they’re paper thin or the Doctor is moaning _loud_ )?

Either way, she doesn’t really care. All she can think about is the Doctor’s soft grunts as she stretched Yaz open and the taste of her come on her tongue and the way her cock probed the back of her throat. She rubs tight circles on her clit, then shoves three fingers in, curling them up exactly how she likes. She comes with a quiet cry, biting on the side of her hand to keep herself from moaning too loud (though she has a feeling the sound might’ve been enough to travel through the wall). The Doctor comes seconds later, much louder and apparently nicely if the needy noises after are any indication.

Afterwards, of course Yaz thinks it’s weird. Maybe like an invasion of privacy, right? Of come sort. And should definitely never happen again, ever, at all.

It happens again two nights later. This time it’s not even Yaz’s fault, like at all. It’s the Doctor who wakes her up with her creaking bed springs (seriously, their beds are on opposite sides of the wall, like almost exactly, and it wasn’t even on purpose). Yaz hears the even pace of the creaking and she knows exactly what the Doctor is doing, and then it’s just her imagination that goes buck wild with that one single piece of information and tries to imagine _how_ the blonde is making those noises.

She imagines the blonde bent over the bed, fucking her cock into her hand as she comes over a towel. Then she imagines a toy (she _has_ dated cis men before, too), or a pillow, and then she hears it, the name repeated over and over, mixed with various whispered curses.

“ _Fuck_ , Yaz, oh god,” the Doctor moans, voice breathless and barely audible through the wall, but Yaz is positive she hears correctly.

From that point on she’s done for, unable to even try and stop herself from shoving two fingers inside and curling up with a loud groan. The Doctor swears and the creaking sound speeds up. Yaz tries to catch up, fucking herself to the pace the Doctor is going at and rubbing her clit with the other hand. The Doctor comes first, letting out a series of low grunts mixed in with Yaz’s name, and Yaz comes almost immediately after with a long moan (that she’s positive is loud enough to be heard through the wall).

She doesn’t get a chance to see Bill for a week and a half (and two more through-the-wall masturbating sessions) but immediately knows it’s a bad idea when Bill _beams_ when she spots her walking into the pub.

“Here she is! Woman of the hour! The one getting the most di—“ Yaz slaps her hard on her side and she stops, laughing hard and dodging out of Yaz’s way. “So how is BD — short for big dick, by the way. ’s what Jack and I have been calling her.”

Yaz wants to hit her again. Instead she walks to the bar and orders a pint, paying the bar tender and picking up her pint before turning back to her. “Dunno, haven’t seen her since the first time,” she says, which is technically true.

Bill leads them back to the table where Jack is already sat, a woman next to him practically sitting on his lap as he chats her up. He catches sight of Yaz and grins. “Hey! Woman of the hour! How’s BD?” he yells over the music.

“Remind me to murder both of you later,” Yaz says, shooting Jack a glare.

“You should bring her out, Yaz,” Bill says, sliding into the circle booth. Yaz slides in after her and takes a sip of her pint.

“Bill, we’re not like, dating or nothin’. Also, it was one time.”

“Then what’s that moaning I hear through the floor 3 nights a week?” Bill asks, crossing her arms over her chest and raising a brow at Yaz challengingly.

“Oh, I _knew_ you and BD were still going at it. Good on your part, Yaz,” Jack says from the other end of the table.

“Shut up, Jack,” Bill says.

“Shut up, Jack,” Yaz says, then, not breaking eye contact with Bill, “I masturbate loudly, I guess.”

Bill raises her other brow and eyes her up and down. “You really want me to believe there isn’t a blonde head between your legs when you sound like the girl from the Exorcist?”

Yaz rolls her eyes and looks away. “I don’t sound like the girl from the Exorcist,” she mumbles.

“I can do an impression if you’re wonderin’, mate. It’ll put a pornstar to shame, truly.”

* * *

Another two weeks later and she’s entirely convinced the blonde is never going to reach out again. She’s resigned herself to the one time shag and occasional mutual masturbation sessions when there’s a knock at her door (on her first off night in the past two weeks). Yaz gets off her couch and pads barefoot over to the door, looking through the peephole before opening it to a grinning Doctor.

“Hiya, Yaz. I were thinkin’ we could open this, since you have the night off, anyways.” The Doctor holds up the bottle of rum Yaz had given her a month ago, unopened.

"How did you know it was my night off?" Yaz asks.

“Oh, I asked Bill, was that okay?”

Yaz rolls her eyes. Of course Bill knows her schedule, probably nicked it from Yaz’s phone when she was in the shower or something. “That’s fine. Yeah, I was actually about to order food, do you want anything?”

“Oh, food would be great, thanks,” the Doctor says, stepping into the flat after Yaz and closing the door behind her.

Yaz gets two glasses from the cabinet in the kitchen and goes to sit not he couch, pulling her phone out and opening up the food delivery app. She reads out the names of the restaurants while the Doctor pours them each a rum and coke with the soda she pulls from the fridge. Thirty minutes later they have Chinese food delivered and Yaz is two drinks down and barely tipsy, but enough that she’s starting to feel more bold (or at least that’s what she tells herself).

So yeah, the alcohol, that’s why she blurts out, “You know I can hear you wanking off in your room at night, right?”

The Doctor looks over at her, bite of noodles stopped halfway to her mouth. She sticks the chopsticks back in the container and clears her throat, not looking at Yaz. “Oh, uh, I kind of figured, I mean after the first time. I’ll stop if you —“

“Can you hear me, then?” Yaz asks (and again, lets blame the alcohol for her blunt questions).

The Doctor’s eyes shoot up to her own. “I wasn’t tryna listen, Yaz. These walls are —“

“Do you want to do it again?” Yaz asks.

The Doctor’s mouth gapes open like a fish. “Oh, uh, if you’d like, that’d be fine, yeah.”

“ _If you’d like, that’d be fine, yeah_?” Yaz repeats. “Wow, Doctor. Really know how to make a girl feel wanted.” She puts her container on the coffee table and takes the Doctor’s food from her hands.

“Sorry, god, sorry Yaz, I didn’t mean it like that,” the Doctor stammers.

Yaz looks up at her and grins. “I know that.” She puts the other container down and stands, holding a hand out to the Doctor. The blonde takes it and lets herself be led to Yaz’s room. Yaz doesn’t let the blonde get two steps in before she’s pushing her against the wall and kissing her like her life depends on it (with the constant throb between her legs, it might as well).

Yaz pulls her close by the shirt, then pulls at the belt loops attached to jeans that had made Yaz’s mouth water when she first saw the Doctor wearing them. She feels the Doctor’s considerable length press against her through rough material as she moves her hands up to cup soft breasts. The Doctor gasps into her mouth and her hips rut forward. Yaz smirks against her mouth and bites down on her bottom lip, soothing it over with her tongue.

The Doctor grips at her waist, one hand groping Yaz’s breast and the other tangled in curly brown hair. Her hands pull at Yaz’s shirt, tugging impatiently as Yaz takes her time. Yaz finally takes pity on her and pulls away, lifting her arms to let the Doctor pull the shirt off and drop it to the floor. Yaz does the same to the Doctor and tosses her shirt and bra on the chair nearby, pulling her back in to lock their lips when fabric is taken care of. Yaz plays with a hard nipple in one hand while her other hand slides down a toned stomach, playing with the button of her jeans.

“Do you have protection?” Yaz asks, and if this is going to be like, a multiple occurrence thing she’s gonna have to buy condoms as well (it’s rude to expect the Doctor to always provide).

The Doctor pulls away and reaches in her pocket for a minute, pulling out a plastic square with a grin. “Always prepared, I am,” she says.

“So you were planning this?” Yaz quips, taking the condom from her hands and undoing the button of her jeans, sliding the zipper down slowly.

“Was hopin’,” the Doctor mumbles against her neck, biting down softly. Any cockiness in her body leaves as soon as Yaz grips her firmly through her underwear and she gasps against Yaz’s skin. “Oh, _fuck_.”

“Better than your own hand already?” Yaz smirks, pushing the jeans down her thighs. The Doctor tries to kick them off her ankles and almost falls over in the process. “Easy there, slow down,” Yaz says, pulling back so the blonde can take her time and step out of the material now pooled at the floor.

Yaz pulls her own sweats and underwear down her legs without preamble and the shocked look on the Doctor’s face at realizing Yaz is suddenly stood there naked is priceless. She moves forward and connects their lips, pushing Yaz towards the bed in the center of the room. Yaz’s entire body thrums with excitement, with knowledge of what the Doctor is packing in those boxers and anticipation at what she’s going to do with it. She lets herself be pushed down against the bed but stops when the Doctor removes her underwear, opening the condom package.

“Wait,” Yaz says and the Doctor’s head shoots up. Yaz sits up, the Doctor now standing between her spread legs, dick a little below chest height. She leans forward and kisses the Doctor’s stomach above her pelvis and darts her tongue out to lick at the base of her cock.

A hand goes to her hair and the Doctor lets out a breathy, “ _Oh,_ ” when Yaz holds the heavy shaft in her hand and brings the tip up to her mouth. The first swipe of her tongue is short but pulls a nice reaction from the Doctor, so she does it again. The Doctor’s hips buck forward and the tip of her cock slips past Yaz’s lips, and Yaz thinks the hottest thing she’s literally ever experienced is when the Doctor mumbles, “ _Finally_ ,” and pushes the rest in without warning.

She’s got her hot neighbors dick in her mouth (throat, practically) and she is not complaining in the slightest. She starts to bob her head, hand gripping firm at the base, and lays her tongue flat. The Doctor grunts softly with each pass of her tongue and holds her still when her cock bumps the back of Yaz’s throat once, twice, three times, before she pulls out. Yaz tries to chase the shaft with her mouth but the Doctor pulls her head away with strong hands.

Yaz looks up at her, mouth tasting like the Doctor and ready for so much more, and takes the condom out of her hand. She’s put a condom on before ( _once,_ but it counts) so she knows the general idea, she’s just not prepared for how tightly it rolls down the Doctor’s thick cock, already hard and practically throbbing in her hand.

The blonde’s mouth hangs open as she watches Yaz, tongue darting out to wet her lips. She mouths the words before her voice catches up with her, “D’you have any lube?”

A gentleman, truly. Even when she’s standing hard in front of Yaz, she wants Yaz to be comfortable too. Yaz places a kiss on her thigh and pulls back, standing and walking over to her nightstand. She quickly pulls out a small clear bottle and squirts some in her hand, dropping the bottle on the floor as she reaches forward to give one hard stroke to the Doctor. Her hand wraps around considerable girth and she pulls. The Doctor closes her eyes and lets out a satisfied groan, head falling forward against Yaz’s shoulder.

She lets go of the Doctor and swipes her fingers through her own folds, finding the already embarrassing amount of wetness pooled there and spreading it around. The Doctor watches her hand with big eyes.

“Breathe,” Yaz reminds her and she takes in a big gulp of air.

“Thanks,” the Doctor mumbles. Yaz turns to wipe her hand on the towel left on her bed when she’s pushed down against the mattress, one hand on the small of her back. After the shock of the move wears off, she grins, closing her eyes and steeling herself for what’s to come next (or who).

The Doctor places open mouthed kisses over her back and shoulders and Yaz turns her head sideways, hair pushed over one shoulder. Hands scratch lightly down her back and palm her ass. Yaz lets out a content sigh and folds her arms under her head, waiting for the Doctor to have her fill.

She groans when she feels the firm press of the tip against her entrance, and she almost moves back to sink herself on it. She stops — barely — and bites her lip, brows furrowed. A warm hand grips her hip and another holds the small of her back and the Doctor slowly pushes herself inside, every single inch until she’s bottomed out and she leans over Yaz again. She presses another breathless kiss to the top of her spine and waits.

Yaz doesn’t have to recover long before she’s saying, “I’m ready. Please keep going.”

The Doctor kisses her neck one last time before holding herself up, pulling her hips back slightly and pushing back in rougher than before. Yaz groans in appreciation at the hard thrust and the Doctor repeats it, faster than the first. Yaz lets her mouth fall open when a steady pace is set, the smack of skin against skin the only noise filling the room other than Yaz’s breathy moans and the Doctor’s soft grunts. One hand reaches out to grip at the bed sheets and she turns her head towards the mattress, sounds muffled.

The sound isn’t muffled for long when the Doctor grabs a fistful of her hair and turns her head to the side. “I like to hear you, love,” she growls close to Yaz’s ear, and that alone makes up her mind that she’s going to keep her head turned.

One of the things that really makes the Doctor stand out in a way that no other penis-owner she’s slept with does is the way she experiments, touching Yaz one place and angling her hips up, or readjusting her hips with a pillow underneath (which goes over great with Yaz, who just lays there and lets herself be taken by this woman any way she wants), or speeding up _and_ angling her hips down (which also goes over great with Yaz). It’s the way she listens to Yaz and adjusts accordingly, making sure she’s not the only one having a good time, and Yaz appreciates that.

_God_ , she appreciates that when the Doctor figures out a way to rub her g-spot on every thrust in and all she can do is grip hard at the sheets and hope she doesn’t come yet because she never wants this feeling to stop. The Doctor’s heavy breath covers the back of her neck and every so often she mutters out a curse or Yaz’s name, like that’s the full extent of her vocabulary.

Yaz’s eyes fly open at one particularly hard thrust and she reaches back to grab the Doctor’s wrist desperately. “Doctor, I’m gonna —“

She doesn’t even get half the sentence out before the Doctor groans, “ _Oh_ , _fuck,_ ” and ruts against her erratically. The cord holding Yaz together snaps and her walls clamp around the Doctor, gripping hard as she continuously pumps into her, the hand on her hip turning rough in it’s hold. Yaz moans loud and can’t help the way her eyes clamp shut and hips lift off the bed, needing the Doctor like she needs air.

“ _Fuck_ , Yaz,” the Doctor moans as she slows her thrusts, both of them panting hard. Yaz feels a hand rub down her spine, softly over her back and shoulders. They both let out a sigh when she pulls out and after a few seconds the Doctor says, “Uh, Yaz?”

Yaz hums a noise into the mattress.

“Where do you want me to put this?”

Yaz turns her head and spots the tied off condom hanging from the Doctor’s fingers. She starts, reaching for the small bin next to her bed. “Oh god, sorry, here,” she says, holding it out. The Doctor drops it in and wipes her hand on her thigh, grinning over at her.

“Brilliant,” she says, then, “Do you have a microwave I can heat up my noodles in?”

They sit on Yaz’s couch eating reheated Chinese food, naked. Well, the Doctor puts on her boxers (she points to her dick and says, “can’t just let it hang everywhere, seems rude,” like she didn’t just have it _inside_ Yaz) and Yaz puts on a long t-shirt. Yaz turns on some reality show and they sit side by side, eating lo mein and sharing the last egg roll.

Some point after another rum and coke and after they finish their food, the Doctor smirks at Yaz and cracks a joke. A joke that Yaz replies with, “Shut up.”

To which the Doctor cheekily says, “Make me.”

And so, she does (what else is she supposed to do?).

She doesn’t even bother with lube, just swinging her leg over the Doctor’s lap and grinding down hard, looking her in the eyes. The Doctor’s tongue peeks out to wet her lips and her hands immediately move to Yaz’s waist, rubbing small circles with her thumbs, and she gasps at the pressure against her cock.

Yaz leans back and pulls her shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind her as she rolls her hips back and forth over the Doctor’s bulge in her boxers. The Doctor breathes heavy against her neck when Yaz leans back in and wraps a hand around the back of the Doctor’s neck. The Doctor immediately takes one already hard nipple in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it and pulling at the metal with her teeth. Yaz lets out a contented sigh and lets the Doctor cover her chest in wet open mouthed kisses, leaving harsh bite marks that she soothes over with her tongue.

After a minute or so she pulls the Doctor’s head from her chest and pushes her against the back of the couch. “Don’t move,” she warns before kissing her again. She gets up from the couch and feels the pocket of the Doctor’s pants before she pulls out another condom (this woman has 4 in her pockets, and _that_ knowledge makes Yaz’s clit throb). She walks back over to the couch and raises an eyebrow when she sees the Doctor sitting there, boxers already off and slowly stroking her cock in her hand.

“I thought I said don’t move,” Yaz quips.

The Doctor looks up guiltily, then back down to her hand that’s still pulling on her dick. “Sorry, wanted to be ready so you didn’t have to wait,” she starts.

“Is that why you’re still wanking off then?” Yaz asks, eyes following the slow movement of the Doctor’s hand curled around the hard shaft.

The Doctor flushes bright pink and Yaz hands over the condom packet. She opens it and slowly rolls the latex down her dick until the end settles at the base.

They both let out a sigh when she finally sinks down, the Doctor fully sheathed inside of her. Yaz kisses the Doctor’s throat before leaning back and lifting herself up, the Doctor’s dick almost slipping out before she practically falls back down.

The Doctor bites her lip and groans low in her throat, fingers gripping hard at tan skin. Yaz braces both hands on either side of the Doctor’s shoulders and starts riding her, rolling her hips forward with every other descent to grind her clit over the Doctor’s pelvis. The Doctor does as told, staying glued to the back of the couch and only holding her hips, not guiding her or thrusting up.

Yaz lets go of the couch with one hand and reaches up, twisting her right nipple hard and biting her lip with a whimper. The Doctor’s cock hits her g-spot on every pass and it gets Yaz to the edge a lot faster than she’d expected (she’s never been one to mount, in all honesty). She looks down at the Doctor, sweaty and panting and looking like she wants to do so many things to Yaz, almost all of them involving her cock in one way or another. A shiver shoots up her spine at even the thought of some of those things and she can’t help the resulting moan when the Doctor rubs hard on her g-spot again.

“Do you need — oh _, fuck_ — do you need to go faster to come?” Yaz asks between shallow breaths.

The Doctor’s eyes widen, lips parted slightly. “Are you —“

“Nearly,” Yaz interrupts with a grunt. “Been waitin’, mate.”

The Doctors tongue darts out between pink lips and she sounds breathless when she answers. “Yeah, faster usually does it,” she says, eyes glued to where their bodies meet in the middle.

“Any day you wanna try that is fine —“ Her words are cut off by a loud moan as the Doctor grips her hips in strong hands, stilling them and thrusting up into her, _hard_. “Oh, _god,_ ” she moans, hand moving to grip the Doctor’s hair.

“You can just call me Doctor, thanks,” she says against Yaz’s chest, smirk on her face (Yaz can hear it). It doesn’t take long before the Doctor grunts, “Yaz, I’m close.”

That’s what does it for Yaz. She lets herself be pushed over the edge and she’s falling and falling and falling and her body is shuddering hard and all she can do is _feel_. She thinks the Doctor comes soon after that, but honestly she has no idea — all she’s really aware of is the pleasure washing over her body in waves and the fact she’s still somehow slowly riding the blonde and how good each stretch feels.

She finally comes to a stop, knees and thighs aching from the workout. She breathes deep through her nose and opens her eyes to the Doctor. Her eyes are still closed, bliss written on every part of her face. Her hands are slack against Yaz’s waist and Yaz sifts her fingers through the hair gripped in her hand. The Doctor smiles slowly and hands land back on her waist, thumbs drawing circles over her hips. Yaz nudges their noses together, kisses her softly, then moves back to let the Doctor’s cock slip from inside her. It lands on the Doctor’s stomach with a wet slap and the blonde makes a face.

“Sorry,” Yaz says, moving to pull the condom off.

The Doctor pushes her hands away. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” she says awkwardly, puling it off and tying the end. Yaz points to the trash can in the kitchen and the Doctor stands, padding over to drop it in the bin. She comes back after a minute with a clean dick and immediately drops to her knees in front of Yaz.

Yaz looks down at her with a raise of her brows. “You don’t have to —“

“I know,” the Doctor mumbles, already leaning down to run her lips over the inside of Yaz’s thigh. Yaz’s hand threads through her hair and the Doctor wastes no time taking a long swipe through already wet folds with the flat of her tongue. The hand tangled in blonde hair grips hard and Yaz’s own head falls back. She’s still sensitive from her second orgasm, apparently, and the Doctor uses that to her advantage. She works Yaz up until her hips are bucking into her mouth and then pulls away, or starts licking around her clit instead of directly on it, and Yaz is about ready to hit her, honestly.

Until she pushes two fingers in without warning and curls them up, tongue flicking up her clit. Yaz moans embarrassingly loud (and Bill is going to have a _time_ when she sees her next) and grabs at the edge of the couch with one hand, trying to find something to hold on to. The Doctor’s free hand reaches up and laces their fingers together while she curls up with every thrust and starts to suck at her clit. Yaz’s thighs clamp around the blonde’s head and she tries not to suffocate her as another orgasm wracks through her body with just as much vigor as the last.

When she relaxes the Doctor pulls out and grins, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. “Brilliant,” she says cheekily before bringing Yaz’s hand to her mouth and pressing a soft kiss to each knuckle, not breaking eye contact.

Yaz doesn’t know what to do about that. Doesn’t know what she _should_ do about that.

The Doctor goes to pee a few minutes later and Yaz puts on a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt. She gathers the Doctor’s clothes and hangs them over the back of the couch and starts the kettle. The Doctor comes up behind her at the stove and wraps her arms around her waist, placing a soft kiss to her neck before pulling away and opening cabinets until she finds the mugs. She pulls two down from the shelf and Yaz puts a tea bag in each, pouring hot water over them. The Doctor adds far too much milk and sugar to her tea and it makes Yaz’s teeth hurt just _looking_ at it.

They sit side by side in her bed, legs crossed, while they drink their tea. The Doctor stretches her legs out in front of her and wiggles her toes. She asks, “Have you got family?”

“Yeah, my parents, sister, and nan,” Yaz says. “Do you have family?”

The Doctor chews the inside of her cheek for a moment before she says, “Sort of.”

Yaz doesn’t ask what that means — could probably guess if she gives it more than a minute of thought, but she’s not one to pick at healed wounds and this seems like one of those. Instead, she asks, “Have you found where you belong yet?”

The Doctor looks over at her with a look Yaz can’t place — face soft and eyes flicking over her features and bottom lip pulled between teeth. Finally after a long moment of silence she says, “I think I’m getting there.”

* * *

The Doctor takes her hand when they exit the cab and Yaz convinces herself it’s just because the crowd is thick and she doesn’t want to get separated. She grips her fingers tight as she pulls them through the crowd towards the front doors of the pub, lights a soft glow spilling from the windows. Yaz finally gets them inside and out of the biting cold, pulling the Doctor’s arm the last foot to get her through the throng of people. She presses herself against Yaz’s back as they shuffle their way towards the bar.

The Doctor pays for their pints and follows Yaz to a table in the back where Bill, Jack, and another girl whose name almost definitely starts with a C, Yaz is pretty sure (and also she’s apparently here with Bill). When they get to the table Jack grins wide and stands, holding his hand out to the Doctor.

“BD! Nice to finally meet you!” He says cheerily, shaking the Doctor’s hand and pulling her into a hug.

When he lets her go she turns to Yaz and asks in a loud whisper, “Why did he call me BD?”

“Stands for Big Dick. Heard you giving Yaz the time of her life up there,” Bill says, mouth on the straw of a fruity drink that she sips on.

The Doctor frowns at her crotch then looks back up to Yaz. “Is it really above average?” She asks, sounding like she genuinely doesn’t know.

Bill chokes on her beer, coughing hard.

Yaz glares at her but the Doctor is still looking at her expectantly (and so is Jack) so she mumbles, “Yeah, most definitely.”

Jack cheers. The Doctor flushes pink in the low pub light. Yaz pulls her down on the bench next to her and downs a third of her pint in one drink. They get another round of drinks and soon enough personalities clash and the Doctor ends up in a darts contest with Jack — and then ends up kicking his ass, whether by accident or she’s just a secret professional darts player, Yaz has no idea.

They get shots, but the shots are doubles, and when you’re doing shots you don’t think about the fact that they’re doubles, so you say ‘oh, only 5 shots’ when in reality it’s been 10 and you are a lot more drunk than you’d expected. And then the C-name-girl ( _Clara,_ that’s what it is!) challenges the Doctor to an arm wrestling contest and truly, Yaz has never been as gay as she is the moment strong biceps flex, the Doctor pushing harder and harder until she slowly lowers Clara’s hand to the table.

Yaz wants the Doctor to choke her out, honestly, and all she can think about is the Doctor’s hand on her throat and flex of her forearms and then Bill is elbowing her hard in the side.

“Oi, keep it in your pants when you’re in public. I can practically smell you,” she says.

Yaz doesn’t answer — _can’t_ answer — as the Doctor stands from the table and walks over to them, a cocky look in her eyes. She slides an arm around Yaz’s waist and pulls her close, her nose pressing against her neck.

“Hi,” Yaz says, her arm coming to wrap around her shoulders automatically.

“Hi,” the Doctor mumbles against her neck, eyes closed.

Bill mutters, “Oh jesus, fucking lesbians, man,” and walks back to where Clara sits at the table.

* * *

They are drunk. Very drunk. So drunk that Bill personally shoves them into a cab together and says, “I’ll get my own cab, you horny drunk fucks.”

The Doctor turns to Yaz when the door shuts beside her, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and tongue darting between her lips quickly, quick enough that Yaz barely catches the movement but can’t stop staring at her mouth nonetheless. “Are we horny? I know we’re drunk but —“

“Newman street, please, thanks,” Yaz interrupts, giving their address to the driver and ignoring the Doctor’s question. She’s drunk — they’re both drunk, but Yaz is pretty sure the Doctor might be a bit more drunk than she is considering she did do a line (a _line_ ) of shots with Jack, who is more or less being rolled out of the pub.

The Doctor stares at her through the passing street lights and Yaz says, “What?”

The Doctor grins lazily, head lolling to the side to lean on the headrest. “Nothin’, just, you’re pretty.”

“And you’re delusional, mate,” Yaz quips, and seriously, when did her head become so…swishy? That’s the only word she can currently think of (her vocabulary is limited at the moment, alright) and it makes her stomach a little sick when the driver hits a pothole and the car bumps up. Yaz reaches out on instinct and grabs the Doctor’s hand in her own, only just realizing what she’s doing when the Doctor looks down at their joined hands.

Hazel eyes slowly track back up to her face and study her intensely, though the alcohol cloud fogging her eyes is certainly dimming some of the intensity. Yaz doesn’t pull her hand away and neither does the Doctor and when they get to their flat complex, they both silently decide to go into the Doctor’s flat instead of their separate ways.

They stand right inside the door for a moment, staring at each other silently before the Doctor says, “D’ya wanna cuppa?”

“Love one, thanks,” Yaz replies almost automatically.

The Doctor drops her hand and steps back and the air around her is a lot cooler now, breathable. She takes in a lungful of air and watches the Doctor pull her shoes off, letting them drop to the floor with a loud _thunk_ , and walking (albeit a little slowly) to the small kitchen to get the kettle ready.

Yaz shrugs her jacket off, throwing it over the couch, and toes out of her shoes, following the Doctor’s path. She sits at the small two person table in the corner, playing on her phone while the Doctor moves around the kitchen (doing what, Yaz has no idea).

The thought comes out of absolutely nowhere (or maybe it comes from the incessant throb between her legs since the Doctor had asked that question) and it’s out of her mouth before she can stop herself. “What does it feel like?”

“Hm?” The Doctor hums, standing up on her tip toes to try and reach the top shelf. The edge of her shirt rides up and a thin strip of skin peeks out between cotton and jeans. The top of her boxers show over the top of her jeans and Yaz wonders what weird design is on this pair.

“Like, _me._ What do I feel like when you’re inside? Y’know, when we —“

A loud crash cuts her off and they both look down at the floor where a mug lays shattered to pieces.

The Doctor’s tongue darts between her lips and she looks over at Yaz. She looks like she doesn’t know what the right answer should be, then she says, “I’ve got a broom,” and lifts her foot to start walking.

Yaz puts her hand out, stopping her and standing up from the table. “No, just tell me where it is. Broken glass ’n all.”

The Doctor points to a small closet off to the side and Yaz gets the broom, turning back and handing it to the Doctor. She sweeps the ceramic pieces into a pile and Yaz kneels down, holding the dust pan while the Doctor sweeps the pile into the pan. Yaz looks up at her and _god,_ she shouldn’t be thinking about her dick, and she definitely shouldn’t be physically reacting to it either (read: she’s wet), and yet.

Yaz’s eyes drop down the Doctor’s neck, to her chest, over the navy blue button up, to the front of her jeans, obvious bulge barely inches from Yaz’s face. Now it’s Yaz’s turn to lick her lips and she hears a noise from above her, and when she looks back up the Doctor is biting her lip, eyes dark.

Yaz stands and pours the contents of the dust pan into the bin then takes the broom from the Doctor and puts both items back in the closet where she got them. When she turns back the Doctor is a lot closer than she was before and Yaz can smell the alcohol on her breath and the musky scent of her cologne and she wants to bury her nose in it, never emerge from the smell of the Doctor — all engine oil and peppermint and sawdust.

“Tight, but everything usually feels tight,” the Doctor breathes, eyes baring down on Yaz, hungry and wanting. “You feel amazin’, honestly. Absolutely brilliant.” She takes a step forward. “Feels powerful, makin’ you make those noises,” she says and somehow Yaz is now against the counter and she doesn’t remember stepping back.

The Doctor doesn’t stop moving forward until the entire front of her body is flush with Yaz, her arousal apparent and pressing against the front of Yaz’s jeans. She rocks her hips forward and Yaz bites her lip, hand coming up to cup the back of the Doctor’s neck.

The Doctor looks at her seriously, hands stilling on their way up her chest. “I’m drunk, Yaz.”

“Me too,” Yaz says, head swimming a bit.

“We don’t have to, you know,” the Doctor says. “We can watch a movie or you can go back to your flat, I won’t be upset —“

“Doctor?”

“Yeah?”

“Please just fuck me,” Yaz says, moving to unbutton her jeans and pull them down her legs along with her underwear.

The Doctor looks stunned for a minute before she pushes away Yaz’s hands that were beginning to unbutton her own pants and she slides them down pale thighs. The boxers she wears are white with little black stars on them in the form of constellations and Yaz thinks they’re kinda cute, and then can’t think much of anything when the Doctor pulls those down her thighs and pulls out a condom from her jeans pocket. She fumbles with it for a minute, hands shaking slightly, then rolls the edge over the tip of her hard cock. She rolls the rest of the latex down and gives an experimental tug before looking back up at Yaz.

Yaz moves forward and kisses the Doctor, lets herself be kissed by the Doctor. Someone’s tongue darts forward towards parted lips, but it’s unclear whose it was and doesn’t matter much when the Doctor is pressing her against the kitchen counter and then she’s being lifted slightly until she’s on the edge of the counter and the Doctor is looking down between then, hand on her cock. And then she’s lining the tip up with Yaz and she’s being filled, all at once, and the Doctor groans loud, head thrown back.

The stretch burns slightly but the Doctor doesn’t move from where she’s bottomed out, looking like she’d do anything to fuck Yaz to oblivion immediately but holding back for Yaz’s comfort. Yaz nods her consent and wraps her legs around the Doctor’s waist, hooking at the ankle to hold on. The Doctor pulls her hips back and pushes back in and this time it’s Yaz that moans loud, head thrown back as the Doctor starts to pick up speed.

She feels hot and sweaty and the coil tightens ever more in her stomach with each hard thrust by the Doctor and she pulls her shirt up above her breasts, pulling her bra up as well. The Doctor’s eyes immediately hone in on her bare breasts and a hand releases from the death grip on the counter to palm one, fingers flicking a pierced nipple. Yaz bites her lip and groans, breasts jiggling with every thrust in. The Doctor looks entranced and soon enough lets go of her grip on Yaz’s other hip as well to palm the other breast, and it’s entirely up to Yaz to keep herself on the counter. The Doctor twists her nipples hard and rolls her hips up and Yaz lets out an embarrassing squeak of surprise that turns into a low groan in her throat.

“Still feel amazing?” Yaz pants out against her cheek. She’s pulled her close so the Doctor is practically mounting the counter as well, cock slamming into Yaz with relentless force. Yaz grips hard at blonde hair and kisses the underside of a sharp jaw.

The Doctor grunts. “Bloody amazin’. You’re so good at taking my cock, Yasmin.”

Yaz doesn’t know if it’s the praise or the use of her full name during sex but she feels herself suddenly at the edge, and she gasps. “Doctor, oh _fuck_ , Doctor I’m gonna come.”

The Doctor pulls back, eyes studying Yaz’s face.

“ _Yasmin_ ,” she says, voice cool and even. Yaz whimpers and looks up at her, but apparently that isn’t the reaction she’s looking for and she rolls her hips forward before growling, “ _God_ Yaz, you take my cock so good. So fucking good, you know that?”

Yaz comes hard around her and the moan is loud enough that she’s actually worried about getting in trouble for noise complaints. Her body shakes as she’s pushed over the edge and she tries to lift her hips, get the Doctor ever deeper inside, _more._ The Doctor continues thrusting into her until she puts a hand on her chest, eyes closed.

They stay there for a long moment while Yaz comes down and the Doctor doesn’t remove herself until Yaz whispers, “You can pull out now.”

The Doctor removes the condom from her still hard cock and ties it at the end, even though it’s empty. Yaz furrows her brows when she tosses it in the bin and turns back to her, hands pulling up her boxers.

“Wait, you didn’t come,” Yaz says.

The Doctor looks at her cock. “Oh, yeah, nope. Sure didn’t.”

Yaz looks down as well. “Isn’t that gonna be uncomfortable?”

She shrugs. “Nah, will go down eventually.”

“Do you _wanna_ come?” she asks, looking back up to hazel eyes.

“Oh, uh, it’s not a big deal, if you don’t want to, Yaz. Don’t feel obligated, or whatever,” the blonde says sheepishly, hand moving to hold the back of her neck awkwardly.

Yaz grabs a paper towel and wipes herself, tossing the towel in the bin, then drops to her knees in front of the Doctor, pushing her against the counter she had just been fucked on. The Doctor lets out a small gasp when Yaz grips the base of her cock and guides the tip to her mouth. She uses it to pull down her bottom lip, tongue flicking out briefly before she takes the entire head in.

“Oh,” the Doctor breathes as Yaz starts to bob her head shallowly, not taking the entire length yet. She flicks the underside of her cock with the tip of her tongue and the Doctor’s hips buck forward, causing more of her cock to go into Yaz’s mouth.

Yaz pulls back, her hand keeping a slow stroke up and down. “Don’t move,” she says sternly.

The Doctor nods and her hands move to grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white. She bites her bottom lip between white teeth but she doesn’t buck her hips forward to try and get herself in Yaz’s mouth. Yaz places a soft kiss to her pelvis before moving back to take the first inch in her mouth, tongue flat and hand gripping the base. She reaches up to hold the Doctor’s hip in one hand and rests her other hand over the Doctor’s tight hold on the counter.

The Doctor whimpers high in her throat when Yaz takes more in her mouth. “Yaz, please. I was already close before,” she says quietly.

Yaz looks up at her while she slowly lowers her head, taking the entirety of the Doctor in her mouth. The Doctor groans and the uncovered hand starts to reach out to probably tangle itself in Yaz’s hair but stops halfway. The Doctor looks at her with the question in her eyes and Yaz pulls the cock from her mouth, giving another hard tug with her hand.

“No.” Is all she says and the Doctor’s hand goes back to the counter. Yaz lowers her head and flicks the underside of her cock with the tip of her tongue and the Doctor’s body jolts like she’d been electrocuted. “Stay still,” Yaz tuts and lowers her head until the tip is nudging the back of her throat and the Doctor is breathing heavy, sweat shining on her bare chest.

“Yaz,” the Doctor breathes.

Yaz makes a noise in her throat as she slowly bobs her head and the Doctor closes her eyes, nostrils flaring.

“Yaz, please,” she says — _begs_ — as she looks down at her.

Yaz pulls away with a sloppy sound, hand working on the shaft instead. She raises an eyebrow and says, “Beg for it.”

The Doctor looks like those words might just make her come and Yaz stills her hand. She lets out a strangled noise and Yaz can see the muscles working in her jaw. There’s conflicting emotions crossing her face — she’s never begged Yaz before, and they both know it. The want pushing her to do it, just beg, and her own inner need to not give in play across her face and Yaz puts the tip of her cock right against her closed lips, waiting.

“Please, Yaz,” she finally says.

“Please what?” Yaz teases, tongue flicking out once to touch the dick at her lips.

The Doctor closes her eyes, and when she opens them again there’s a determination (apparently her want won). “Please, Yasmin, let me come. I need to, honest.”

Yaz hums in her throat like she’s thinking about it and the Doctor’s hips buck forward, trying to nudge herself in. She smirks but doesn’t open her mouth, just staring up at the Doctor. “More,” she says.

The Doctor rolls her eyes and looks up at the ceiling, then back down at Yaz. “ _Please,_ Yasmin. You do such a _good job_ sucking my cock, I _need_ you to make me come now.”

The heat that shoots through Yaz is a bit shocking — so she has a praise kink, that’s nice to know. And the Doctor knows it as well if the smug grin on her face is any indication. Yaz closes her eyes and breathes through her nose, pulling her mouth away.

“I’ll stop, y’know.”

The Doctor’s face falls — apparently she hadn’t thought of this outcome. She looks almost panicked when she rushes out, “No, no, Yaz, c’mon, please. I really do need you. Please, Yaz.”

“That’s better,” Yaz mumbles before taking the Doctor in her mouth and starting up a nice pace of gripping the base and bobbing her head, the tip nudging the back of her throat on every pass.

The Doctor’s head tilts back and she moans loud, the sound filling the kitchen. Yaz is so entranced by the way her throat flexes when she swallows that she doesn’t even bat away the hand that comes to rest on the back of her head, or the hips that start to buck slightly. The Doctor doesn’t even say when she’s going to cum, the only indication is the hand tightening on the back of her head, holding her in place as thick hot liquid shoots down her throat.

She swallows each time and breathes heavy through her nostrils as she waits for the Doctor to pull out. Yaz pries the Doctor’s fingers off the countertop and laces them together, the Doctor breathing heavy, chest heaving. She lets go of Yaz’s head and pulls out, spit and come trailing from her lips. Yaz wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and sits back on her knees, smiling.

So maybe it’s the soft glow of the kitchen light that shines on the blonde hair, giving her a sort of halo, or maybe it’s the post-orgasm bliss still thrumming through her veins, or maybe it’s the fact that they’re both still a little bit drunk, but Yaz thinks she could stay like this forever.

* * *

They don’t really _date,_ per say. More like they see each other 5 times a week and have sex all the time and they both really enjoy each others company and the Doctor now knows her Starbucks order and sometimes brings her one before a night shift and sometimes Yaz brings pancakes from McDonald’s on the way back in the morning and they eat them in their underwear on the Doctor’s bed (which is bigger than Yaz’s bed) while the Doctor tells her about places she’s been and people she’s met and the time she got bit by a llama trying to feed it at a farm.

“Aren’t llama bites like, bad?”

The Doctor shoves a bite of pancake into her mouth, syrup sticking to her chin. “Well, yeah, but it weren’t a big bite. And it’s not like my hand fell off or something. That’s the same trip I got stuck in quicksand on. And saw a big spider!”

“You’ve been a lot of places,” Yaz notes, leaning forward and wiping the syrup off her chin with her thumb. She sticks it into her mouth, licking it clean before going back to her pancakes, though the Doctor looks a little frazzled.

“Oh yeah, love seeing things, going places, doin’ stuff. It’s nice to remember one city isn’t all there is, y’know?”

“Are you gonna leave, then? To go traveling, I mean,” Yaz asks, trying (and almost succeeding) to not sound accusing or hurt at the idea of the Doctor dropping everything (Yaz included) and taking off for untold adventures.

The Doctor shrugs and takes another bite of her food. “Dunno,” she says, then, “’s always better with a companion, though.” She looks up at Yaz and raises an eyebrow.

Yaz doesn’t know what to say for a minute — this isn’t the answer she expected. “I have a job here in London,” she starts.

“Take leave, quit. I can cover the costs,” the Doctor says quickly.

“I can’t just quit my job on a dime, Doctor. That’s not how it works. And how would you get enough money to front the cost of us traveling to who knows where together?” Yaz asks. The Doctor can’t be serious — how on Earth could they afford it? Has she _seen_ the flats they live in?

“I have money, Yaz. I can cover it,” she says.

“What, you rob a bank or somethin’?” Yaz quips, taking a bite of her pancake.

“Life insurance from my parents. Set me for life.”

Yaz’s fork stops halfway to her mouth and she frowns. “What?”

“My parents, Yaz. I collected their life insurance after they died when I was 8 and now I have more money than I feasibly know how to spend. I can cover the costs of traveling to wherever you wanted to go.”

Yaz puts the plastic container down on the bed and reaches forward, hand on the Doctor’s bare calf. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” she says quietly, and she is sorry. She can’t imagine how she would’ve ended up if her own parents had died that young and it slowly brings the Doctor’s personality together — her quirks and things she does and way she looks at Yaz like she’s going to disappear at any given moment.

The Doctor shrugs, eyes sad but not tearful. “It was a long time ago. A fire broke out, a leaking gas line or something. They don’t explain those things to children, y’know?” She runs a shaky hand through her hair and looks back up at Yaz.She forces a smile but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes and Yaz picks up her hand, kissing each knuckle softly.

They don’t talk after that — going back to their pancakes and eating in the quiet of the morning as people start their commutes to work. The Doctor’s hair is messy (she was literally sleeping when Yaz climbed into her bed and stuck her cold hands against her stomach) and she’s not wearing a shirt and her boxers have pineapples on them. The early morning sun streams through the blinds and shines down on the Doctor like a spotlight, like the universe is saying, _here, this right here. she’s worth it._

They finish their pancakes and tea and then Yaz curls up underneath the Doctor’s arm, her own arm slung around her waist. The Doctor runs careful fingers through her hair and Yaz only makes her cum once before they fall asleep, hands clasped tight.

**Author's Note:**

> as always direct prompts and general screaming (normal talking is accepted) to @zanthetran on tumblr.


End file.
